


Dipping their Toes

by aimeejessica



Series: Testing the Waters [1]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, but cute, not quite smut, possibly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimeejessica/pseuds/aimeejessica
Summary: An alternate take on Shelagh staying at Patrick's during the bomb scare.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner & Patrick Turner, Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Series: Testing the Waters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024638
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39





	Dipping their Toes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ginchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginchy/gifts).



> Based off a prompt I received from Ginchy on tumblr.
> 
> "For a Turnadette prompt, how about getting a little sexy together before the wedding? 😏😆 Thanks!"

Shelagh was at a loss for words as to how to describe herself in this particular moment; the lamp behind her still on, she laid on the mustard yellow settee, tucked safely under the thick duvet that Patrick had pulled out of the cupboard at last minute. She hadn’t had the time to retrieve her own clothes before being evacuated, so she was dressed only in Patrick’s blue, striped pyjama top.

Thoughts ran around her mind. They were only two days from being wed, but with the bomb and the corden, she had her doubts. She had received news from one of the local police officers that the church wasn’t within the corden, but she couldn’t help but worry something was going to go horribly wrong.

Rolling onto her side, she picked up her glasses off the book she had been reading, slipping them naturally onto her face. She took the time to glance around his living room, fantasising about how it would soon be _their_ living room. A small smile graced her lips. She had yearned for the Doctor for a year now, and with their marriage just around the corner, she felt as though she was waiting a lifetime.

Throwing the covers back, the air cooler than in the cocoon she was just in, her body covered itself in goose pimples. Wrapping herself further into Patrick’s pyjama shirt for comfort and warmth, she inhaled the scent that was left on it; it was a mix of cigarettes and the aftershave she had come to recognise as his.

Shelagh stood, walking around the silent room, closely inspecting his items. His bookshelf was full of medical journals from his days at university, old copies of the lancet and as her eyes descended down the shelf, the books became children’s books; old picture books that she had imagined Patrick and Marianne reading to Timothy in his youngest days. He had kept the books, and she wondered if that’s because he knew his life would continue after the passing of his late wife. Would these books become hand-me-downs to _their_ _own_ children. A heat grew low in her belly as her thoughts carried her away to places she had only indulged herself when she was still a teenager.

She moved to the mantle, her fingers trailing along it as if she was checking for dust, but there was none. Patrick had invested in a housekeeper, the job of solo-father and full time doctor made it hard for him to be home to keep on top of the house work. She paused as her gaze hit a picture frame; the small black and white image of Patrick, Marianne and Timothy smiling back at her. There were no ill feelings towards the woman he had first married, and she hoped he would keep the picture on display to keep the memory of her alive. If not for him, then for Timothy.

The next picture frame on the mantle was older that the first, a photo of Patrick Turner, a decade younger than he was today, holding a small baby. She recognised this to be a photo of the father holding his newborn son. She smiled at the image, tracing the outline of Patrick with her finger. That warmth in her stomach returned, but in fuller force and she felt her cheeks flush.

Patrick was quite the handsome man, then and even still. If anything, she thought he looked better the more he aged. The worry lines that had developed over the course of his career mixing with the lines that came naturally with age. She thought about how his dark hair was now peppered with greys; she liked it when he left his hair natural, no brylcreem to slick it back. The way it would fall over his face after a particularly long day and how she would have to restrain herself to not run her fingers through it, tidying it and exposing his handsome face in all its glory.

Had she still been Sister Bernadette, the thoughts that were dancing through her mind would cause her to run to the chapel, praying to God for forgiveness for the sins that enticed her. But she was no longer Sister Bernadette, so although she felt awkward, she encouraged the feelings infecting her body.

She had never acted on her impulses before; not even when she was younger. But this night, two days before their wedding, she found herself being drawn to his room; her feet carrying her up the stairs to seek him out. She knew what she was doing was immoral, but the desire that burned through her being had taken a firm grasp on her.

* * *

Patrick was a light sleeper, and with his bride asleep in his living room, he found it difficult for sleep to even claim him; his thoughts resting with her.

He lay on his side, facing the empty side of the bed. He ran his hand along the vacant area, reminding himself that in only two days, she would lay here with him. He did not care if she was in his arms or not, he would cherish even the sound of her breathing as she dreamt.

He rolled onto his back, withdrawing his hand and allowing it to rest on his undressed chest, the hairs tickling his palm. She was wearing the pyjama shirt, while he wore the bottoms; he smiled at his thought _‘two halves to a whole_ ’. She was the half that he was missing.

In his mind he savoured the image he had tucked away; her petite form drowned in the shirt that was his; the hem sitting mid-thigh, exposing her milky white legs to him. Fortunately she had pulled the duvet over herself when Timothy came down to tell his father that he was ready for bed. Shelagh had given Timothy a kiss on his temple, wishing him a goodnight. However, when Patrick had returned from tucking his son in, he had found her in the kitchen, boiling milk on the stove for her evening drink.

He had watched her from the living room, through the hatch. Her hair was down, a sight he very rarely saw and he found his attraction to her intensify tenfold. She looked so natural in _his_ shirt, in _his_ kitchen and using _his_ belongings. His eyes had traced up her body, savouring the image he now played in his mind, desire for her plaguing his body.

He felt himself stir low and beneath the covers and he wondered would it be appropriate for him to fix the issue with the image of her in his mind. He used his better judgement, deciding he could wait the two long days before he could have her fully.

The image of her in his mind soon returned, as he remember how his nightshirt had ridden up high, just below the crease of backside, as she had attempted to reach a mug off the shelf. He hadn’t offered to help her, instead he had selfishly watched as she unknowingly exposed more of her flesh to him.

Throwing back the covers in frustration, a tent pitched in his pants, he decided he needed a shower. The night was already cold, but to run cool water over him would surely snap him out of his thoughts.

Flicking on the lamp on the nightstand, he glanced at his clock. It was only a little after eleven and with Timothy sound asleep at the opposite end of the hall to the bathroom, and Shelagh asleep downstairs; he decided that he would be able to get away with five minutes to cool down.

He retrieved the towel he had used earlier that night, holding it to cover his erection on the off chance that one of the two was awake. His hand settled on the doorknob, twisting it gently and pulling the door open. He knew his door creaked, and in the silence of the night it sounded like the loudest thing in the world. His face scrunched up in a grimace, hoping the sound wouldn’t alert his bride or his son.

Quickly popping out of his room and scurrying down the hall, he instantly froze.

“Patrick?” Her accented voice coming in the form of a loud whisper, alerting him to her presence.

 _Damn_. He turned carefully to face the woman who was making her way closer to him. He tried to ignore the movement of her bare legs, or the sway of her hips, but the heat he felt amplified his senses and he noticed ever movement. Her hair was slightly messier than it had been earlier in the evening, slightly mussed from the way she had been laid on his couch and he couldn’t help but marvel at how gorgeous she looked.

He thanked himself for using the damp towel he had collected from his room, for if he were to have grabbed a fresh towel from the linen cupboard, his lust would have been obvious to her. He was covered and she was none the wiser.

“Shelagh,” he whispered back to her. “What are you doing up here?”

She smiled at him causing his heart to thunder in his chest, pumping more blood into the stiffness in his pants. She was close now; close enough for him to catch the scent of the fading perfume she wore. “I couldn’t sleep,” It was then that she noticed the towel slung across his arm. “I thought you showered earlier?”

He had to think of an excuse and quickly so as to not arouse suspicion. _Arouse_ , he thought. “I broke out in a sweat, and it was uncomfortable,” he fibbed.

Her hand naturally rose to his forehead, her nursing training trying to deduce if he had become ill with a fever. As her hand touched him, he was indeed warm, but not with a fever. She had noticed his dilated pupils, and wishful thinking had her hoping he was feeling the same desire she was, but her rational mind told her it was due to the darkness of the hallway.

She pulled back from him, instantly missing the contact. But as she did, she took the time to glance over his body. She had not seen him this bare and it fuelled the fire that raged within her. She wanted nothing more than to reach out place her hands on his chest, to run them over the firmness, to have her hands feel the wiry hairs that covered it.

Patrick noticed the woman drinking his image in, in the same way he had done with her earlier that evening. He longed to take her back to his room, for them to become one. She was driving him insane without doing anything.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” she told him.

“Oh,” was all he could muster in response. “Good.”

It was she who had made the first move, reaching for his free hand to hold it in her own. He instinctively ran his thumb over the jewelled band that graced her ring finger. Courage growing a little inside him, he raised the hand to place a light kiss over the ring like he had done when she had accepted his proposal.

“Two days seems like a lifetime away,” she admitted quietly, her eyes never breaking contact with his.

“Quite,” he agreed, now holding her hand across his chest and in front of his rapidly beating heart. He was certain she could feel the muscle thundering through his body.

“I don’t want to wake Timothy,” She had pulled on the hand that still held hers, leading the way back to what would soon become _their_ room. Closing the creaky door as quietly as she could, she removed her hand from his grasp, she now attempted to take the towel away from him, a conversation seemed to be needed between them at this point.

His grip never faltered on the towel, and she thought it odd. The dim light emitted from the bedside lamp revealed that his cheeks had flushed. “Here, it needs to go into the hamper,” she told him, trying to get him to relieve him of the cool, still damp towel. “You would catch your death if you had used this thing,”

Reluctantly he released the death grip on the fabric, allowing his bride to take the item to the laundry hamper next to his dresser. When she turned around to return to him, she noticed he faced away.

She took this moment to gaze over his back, little moles spotted all over. Returning to him, she traced her fingers over the dark spots, and she felt him shudder under her touch. The desire between them thickened the air. She didn’t need to see him, and he with her, to know they were both lusting over each other.

Boldly, she placed a kiss on his back, encircling her arms around his waist. She felt his body stiffen in her embrace, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she placed another kiss in a different spot on his back.

“Shelagh,” his tone was warning.

“Mmm,” she hummed, her primal instincts taking over all rational thought.

“As much as I don’t want you to stop,” he sighed. “You have to,”

He finally turned in her arms, his length rubbing along her belly, eliciting a groan from him. She gasped, a little surprised at the feeling of him against her, she had never experienced such a feeling before, but it only spurred her desire. He placed a kiss on her forehead, placing his hands on her shoulders and gently pushing her away from him. He watched the emotions run through her mind, reflected at him in the light blue of her eyes. He noticed her cheeks were flushed, extending down her neck and to the patch of skin that was visible at her chest. Her pupils were dilated with desire and her lips, pretty, pink and pouted.

“I am sorry, my love,” he tried to apologise to her. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, or do anything she would regret.

“I don’t want to leave,” she admitted softly.

“And I don’t want you to,”

She held her left hand up, palm facing her to show him the ring he had placed on her fingers only a few months earlier. “This is a promise that we will be together,” she explained. “Legalities and morals be _damned_ ,”

Patrick chuckled at her language. “Shelagh, I don’t want to do anything that you will regret,” he raised his hand to her cheek, cupping it gently and allowing his thumb to brush across the reddened flesh.

She relaxed into his touch, turning her head slightly to place a kiss on the pad of his thumb. “I don’t think I will regret it,” she told him.

A plan formed in Patrick’s mind, and he pulled away from her, turning to find something he had tucked away in his nightstand. She missed the feeling of him, but he soon returned a jewellery box identical to the one that had once housed her engagement ring. He passed the box to her, allowing her to do the honours of opening it.

Inside were two gold bands which she instantly recognised as their wedding rings. The thinner one was to belong to her, the thicker to belong to him. She was so enamoured, holding their future in her hands, that his movement startled her. She drew her gaze back to him and watched silently as he pulled off the wedding band that Marianne had once placed on his finger, and held out his hand for Shelagh to put the new ring on his finger.

She obliged, slipping the ring easily onto his finger.

Taking the last ring out of the box, he let her discard the empty vessel on their bed. She instinctively held out her own hand, allowing Patrick to slip the ring on next to the jewelled one already on her finger.

“Consider it testing the waters, then?” he suggested, smiling at the woman he loved.

She reciprocated with a smile of her own, allowing his lips to claim hers tenderly.

“I’m so in love with you,” she whispered to him, his forehead now resting against hers, his hands holding her waist.

“And I’m so in love with you,” he whispered in return.

Her hands found their way to his chest, running them over him experimentally. She felt him shudder under her touch. “I want to sleep with you,” she told him, beginning to unbutton the top of his that she wore.

He began to stop her hands, but she swatted them away as she continued to unbutton the garment. Instead, all he could do was stare as the nightshirt fell open, his gaze raking along her exposed chest and stomach, breasts still hidden behind fabric. His hands, seemingly with a mind of their own, went to her shoulders, pushing the shirt off her to fall in a pool on the floor.

She moved herself from him, walking to the side of the bed that was still made, slipping herself under the covers. “Come join me,” she told him.

And so he did.

Placing a heavy kiss to her lips, he allowed her bare body curl into his side before sleep quickly claimed the pair of them.

Their union as one would wait, but this was a start.

**-end**

**Author's Note:**

> Is this sexy? I considered smut, but I'm not yet up to the challenge.  
> Hahaha.  
> I hope this fulfills at least some of the request?  
> I do have an idea for smut that I got when I was showing a mate some Turnadette scenes yesterday.


End file.
